Grandpa
by Princess Pinky
Summary: One of the greatest relationships in the world is the relationship between grandfather and grandchild. Each chapter of this story focuses on a relationship between a Grandpa and his granddaughter or grandson from SL. Dedicated to all the lost Grandpas.
1. When You Start Falling

**A/N:** When we write, there's an element of ourselves that always gets written into our work; some more than others. (I guess you could call it historical fiction.) This is one of those times. I had three people in mind while writing this story – Julie (**LaBellaShai27**), her grandfather, and mine. Each chapter of this story will contain a short story about the relationship between a grandfather and grandchild from _Secret Life_. Each chapter will be titled a line from Faith Hill's "It Will Be Me." In this first chapter, each flashback is based partly on a true moment memory between my grandfather and I.

This story is dedicated to everyone who has lost a grandfather and to all those Grandpas lost. We love you and we miss you and we hope that, wherever you are, you miss us too.

_**Grandpa**_

**When You Start Falling**

"_Who is this, Ames?"_

_Amy Juergens was seated on her grandfather's knee, examining the coin he held between his thumb and index finger. Her eyes lit up. "Santa Claus!"_

"_Yeah?" Robert Scott chuckled. "And who is this?" he asked again, before flipping the coin over to the other side._

_Amy took one look at the other side of the quarter and bellowed, "George Washingmachine!"_

_Robert flipped the coin into the air and caught it in his palm. "Our First President," he nodded, unable to contain his amusement: "George Washingmachine!" He planted the custom coin into his granddaughter's hand. "Keep that safe now for me, alright?"_

"_A huh!" Amy nodded, closing both hands around the object as though it were sacred._

"_You won't lose it, will you?"_

"_No!"_

"_You promise?"_

"_Pom-miss!"_

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Amy slapped her eyes closed and scrunched up her nose, imitating the pretty blonde woman she'd seen on a Nick at Night marathon her mother had let her watch when she'd been up sick with a cold two weekends prior. She couldn't remember, but she thought her name was Jeannie._

"_Oh, she's adorable! Isn't she adorable, Robert?" Mimsy asked as she coddled a very sleep Ashley, just barely three-years-old, to her chest._

"_It's only with one eye, Ames," Robert chuckled. He proceeded to bend down to her eye level, cock his head again, and wink at her. A good natured dimple materialized as he closed his eye up. "See? That's a wink!"_

"_That's what I did, Grampa!" To prove her point, she shut her eyes again._

_Robert tapped her on her tiny button nose. "Silly girl, you're shutting both eyes! That's a blink!"_

_Amy looked to her parents, who were seated at the end of the kitchen table, Anne on George's lap. Her mom was giggling and her dad was grinning from ear to ear. She felt her cheeks flush, not from embarrassment, but from the joy of the attention._

"_Rob," Mimsy interrupted. "We've gotta get going." She flashed him her wrist which sported a dainty golden watch. "If we don't get down to the mall before they close, we're…" she surveyed the sleeping babe in her arms. "…never going to get to talk to Mr. Claus."_

"_Santa!" Amy yelped, her eyes widening to the size of silver dollars._

"_That's right, Ames!" He picked her up and spun her around. "You wanna go with Mimsy and I see Santa yourself?"_

"_Dad," Anne groaned. "It's late, if you take them out now-"_

"_Come on, Anne…" George wriggled his eyebrows. "If your parents are willing to take Amy – or, you know, both girls even – who are we to protest them seeing Santa Claus?" He wrapped his hands around her waist. "We could use the time to…stuff a couple stockings."_

"_George!"_

_Mimsy snickered as she stood up. "Spit spot, then! I'll go grab the girls' coats!"_

"I'll go warm up the car." He ruffled Amy's hair as he sat her back on the tile floor. "We'll work on that wink on the way!"

_Amy contained her grin as she watched her grandparents leave the kitchen, whispering and smiling and holding hands as if they'd just started dating. After they'd descended the stairs into the den, she hurried out of the kitchen, out of the sight of her parents, and stood beside the stair railing with a grin on her face. Thinking carefully, she closed one eye and grinned._

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Amy lay stretched out on the stairs at her grandparents house, peering into the kitchen to watch her mother and Mimsy preparing the holiday ham. "I really, really, really want a kitty!" she begged, contorting her face into a pout._

"_I know," Anne replied, exasperated. "That's the only thing on your Christmas List this year. Front and back. On all fifteen pages!"_

"_And don't forget the notes on the toilet seats," Mimsy smirked._

"_Or in the shower."_

"_Or taped to Ashley."_

"_What?" Anne cast a dirty look over her shoulder._

"_She didn't care," Amy replied unapologetically._

"_It was on her back."_

"_Mimsy!" But before Anne could reply, the front door opened with a shuddering burst of November air. In a flash, something darted across the entrance and right up to Amy, as if it knew exactly where it needed to go. Amy shrieked, completely oblivious as Robert shuffled in a moment later. "Mommy, look! Look! It's a kitty!" The small cat nudged Amy's chin with her head and began to knead into her clothes as Amy smothered her with kisses and gentle scrubs. "Can we keep her?"_

"_Amy-"_

"_That cat was scratching at the door," Robert announced with a mock scowl on his face as he paused by the stairs. He avoided both eyes of the women in the kitchen and focused on the little girl at his feet. Continuing with his so-called voice of disapproval he added, "You'd better do something with it."_

_Amy rolled onto her back and cuddled the kitten against her chest as the feline's purrs grew in pitch. "I'm gonna name her Purr!"_

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Amy bit off a chunk of her candy cane as she laid her head onto her grandfather's arm. They were reclined on his bed, propped up against a giant blue backrest pillow that Robert had had ever since she could remember. Her mom and little sister were at the edge of the bed, nibbling on Christmas tree shaped sugar cookies and the sweet sound of Faith Hill's "It Will Be Me" was billowing from the speakers as a family slideshow faded in and out on the television screen._

"_Merry Christmas, Grandpa!" Amy exclaimed, echoing the words on the screen at the end of the slideshow. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Did you like it?"_

_Robert wrapped one arm around Amy's waist and hugged her to his chest. "It was perfect, Ames."_

"_I hepped too!" Ashley blurted out as she scampered out of her mother's lap and crawled up the bed to sit on her grandpa's lap. "I hepped too!"_

_Robert chortled and patted Ashley on the head. "I'm sure you did, baby girl." He pulled his granddaughters together and embraced them simultaneously. "I love you both so much, this was the best present a grandpa could ever get."_

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_She couldn't understand why her mother had pulled her out of bed in the middle of the night to make a road trip, especially on a school night. Even when she asked, over and over, why they were walking into the hospital, nobody would tell her a thing. All she knew was that her mother wouldn't stop crying and she'd never seen her like that before._

"_Mom, what's going on? Why won't you tell us anything?"_

"_We shouldn't have brought them, George. I told you this was a bad idea! I don't want them to see him like-like…"_

_George wrapped his arms around Anne's shoulders. "It wouldn't be fair to keep them away, Anne."_

"_Why you crying, Mama?"_

_Amy clutched Ashley's hand. A crippling feeling was building in her stomach, like the moments before the first car crash she'd ever been in. "It's okay, Ashley," she whispered. "Mom's okay."_

"_Anne! George!"_

"_Mimsy!" Ashley bellowed, her sleepy eyes lighting up._

_Amy shivered at the sight of Mimsy's fragile form, her eyes and cheeks shimmering in the harsh fluorescent hallway lights. "Where's Grandpa?"_

_At the mention, a levy seemed to break inside Mimsy and she fell into George's arms, inconsolable. Her trembling finger pointed to the end of the hallway, just beyond the information counter, to a room where the curtains had been pulled taut around the windows._

"_Why don't you take the girls, Anne? I'll take care of Mimsy."_

_Amy wanted to protest, but held her tongue as her father ushered her grandmother back down the hall while Anne rounded up herself and Ashley, just feet from the door Mimsy had indicated. "Where's Grandpa?" she inquired again, the crippling feeling almost unbearable._

_Anne knelt down, her eyes like a raccoon with smeared mascara. "Amy, Ashley…Grandpa's very sick right now…you might not want to-"_

_Amy released Ashley's hand. Her grandpa had always been there for her when she was sick and there was no way her mother was going to talk her out of seeing him. She vaguely heard Anne yelling as she darted around her, running for the door that she knew must be hiding something very horrible to make her parents and grandmother so distraught._

_Even as one of the nurses bounded towards her, she pulled down the handle and shoved her way in. The air from her lungs seemed to vanish as she saw the single greatest man in her life high on a bed, with tubes extending from his mouth and nose, surrounded by the sick permeation of bleach. Somewhere beneath the wires and the tubes and the scarce hospital gown, was Grandpa Robert._

_Somewhere._

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Three sleepless weeks later, Amy sat at a familiar chair beside her grandfather's hospital. She pulled something from her pocket and held it above his eyes, which were opened, though they seemed to stare at nothing. "Who is this, Grandpa?" When she received no response, she pointed animatedly towards the picture. "It's Santa Claus, don't you recognize him?" She pressed the coin into Robert's palm and curled his fingers around it. "I wrote him a letter this year. It's even longer than the one I wrote when I asked for Purr. I told him all I want for Christmas is my grandpa back. I told him…I told him I'd give up all my toys if you could just wake up."_

"_Amy?"_

_Amy swiveled her head around to see her father in the doorway. "I was telling Grandpa Robert what I want for Christmas."_

_George smiled sympathetically. "I brought Grandpa Robert his slideshow," he smiled, holding up a small disc case. He moved to the television at the foot of the bed, flicked it on, and slid the DVD into the player. A momentary black screen later, Faith Hill music began to flow from the speakers, followed by a collage of photographs on screen._

_Amy slid her tiny hand over Robert's and used the other to point to the screen. A photograph of Amy, about two-years-old, standing in the kitchen wearing a brand new Christmas gift of a plastic shiny blue necklace and matching bracelet flashed on the screen. As the lyrics sang, "When you start falling, who's gonna catch ya," the photo faded into a photo of Amy in the same clothes in the same spot, except she was now sitting on the floor. As the words "I'm willing to bet ya, it will be me," played off, the image changed to one of Amy and Robert standing side by side, holding each other's hands while Amy held a heart shaped Valentine's Day balloon in her free hand._

"_Look, Grandpa! That's us!" She turned her head, expecting to see Robert's blank face and as expected, it looked just like it had for the last three weeks. But to her surprise, a single tear expelled from his left eye and traveled down the side of his cheek. "Dad, look! Look, Dad!" she gasped, pointing to the fateful tear. "Grandpa Robert's crying!"_

Amy lifted her hand to her cheek, wiping away the tear that had fled her eye the moment she'd found the small silver quarter, wrapped in a tissue, tucked in the depths of her sock drawer. She lifted the coin up, examining both sides in her hands, before she turned and walked over to her son's playpen. With a weak smile on her face, she held the coin up to her little boy and asked, "Who is this, John?"

John Juergens face lit up and he clasped his hands together excitedly. "Tanta Claus!"

Flipping the coin over she nodded, "And you don't know this yet, but this, this is George Washington. Can you say that, John? George Washington?"

John grabbed for the shiny coin. "W-W-Wash – Wash-"

Amy nodded eagerly. "Washington."

"Washingmachine!"

With a reminiscent giggle, the young mother scooped the boy out of the playpen and sat him on her knee. "Yeah," she whispered, kissing his head. "That's right. George _Washingmachine_." Then she leaned back and flicked open the jewelry box on her nightstand, where she extracted a wallet sized photograph and held it up for John to see. "And do you know who this is?"

Again, the little brunette grabbed for the picture.

Amy held it just beyond her son's reach. "This is your Great Grandpa Robert," she exhaled, her voice jittery.

"Gampa?"

"That's right, John. Grandpa. He was _my_ Grandpa, like daddy's yours." Hugging her son close to her chest she whispered, "I wish he could've met you. I think you would've liked him a lot."


	2. Who's Gonna Catch Ya

**A/N:** Second chapter of the _Grandpa_ saga. This doesn't necessarily follow a timeline, it's more of a snapshot that I'm trying to keep semi-canonical (therefore, I probably won't be doing any fics for grandparents who have yet to be named, like Grace's grandfathers) until and unless they are named. I'm also debating on how to do potential Leo and Ruben chapters with regards to Bendrian's pregnancy, since we'll have to wait for the end of season three for the birth. (Hopefully we get a sex confirmation early on.) Anyway, please enjoy! (P.S. The image on the ceiling in this chapter is totally true! And I've got the pictures to prove it!)

_**Grandpa**_

**Who's Gonna Catch Ya**

John Juergens rolled onto his back, staring at the white paint on the ceiling of his father's former bedroom. He jabbed his fingers into his ears and began to wriggle them around when his grandfather walked in, carrying a bowl of golden soup.

"Itchy ears again?" Sanjay Shakur asked, sympathetic to his grandson's condition.

John helplessly nodded as he watched his grandpa put the bowl down on the nightstand and tear off a square of Charmin from the half used roll beside the lamp. "It itchies at the back of my float too," he complained, scrunching up his face.

"Well trying to scratch it with your tongue won't work," Shakur laughed, knowing immediately what the boy was doing. He passed the square of toilet paper to John, who wiped the yellowed ear wax from his fingertips onto the tissue and then proceeded to blow his nose in it, before passing it back to his grandfather. Shakur frowned a bit, but ultimately grabbed another – larger – wad of toilet paper, wrapped the germ covered ball in it, and tossed it into the waste bin.

John sat up, revealing his _Mutant Ninja Turtle_ pajamas, and propped himself up against the headboard of the bed and waited for Shakur to set up the fold up tray, so he could eat his soup without spilling. "Did you know there's a troll on the ceiling?"

"Really?" Shakur questioned, arching his brows as he placed the bowl in front of his grandson.

"A huh. See!" John shot his arm out, pointing at the ceiling. "She's right there! See? See? She's got this ginormous head on this ity bity neck," he explained, miming with his hands. "And big frizzy hair like Hermione's and this big witchy hook nose and slanted eyes and razor sharp teeth! Do you see 'er, Grampa? Do you?"

Shakur angled his head and squinted up at the ceiling, then shook his head. "Maybe I'm sitting at a bad angle?"

"Hmm…" John tilted his head back. "Maybe you have to lay down with me to see? Wanna do that?"

Shakur chuckled and motioned to the bowl. "Maybe after you're done eating."

"'Kay." The little brunette swirled his spoon around the golden liquid a few times, before pulling it up and revealing cube shaped chunks of pink chicken tucked between slimy noodles. He pummeled the spoonful into his mouth with a few stray noodle ends hanging out and slurped them up, spattering bits of noodle broth around his chin and cheeks, then he shoved the spoon back into the bowl and repeated the ritual.

"Is it good? Not too cold, not too hot?"

John bobbed his head. "It's fine."

"Just fine?"

"Gramma always brings me crackers with my soup," he explained.

"You finished those off yesterday."

"'Sokay," the little boy assured happily. After a few more bites, he slowed down his pace and glanced at Shakur with a look of curiosity in his eyes. "Grampa Shakur?"

"Hm?"

"Can I axed you somefing?"

Shakur reclined into the chair at John's bedside and crossed one leg over the other while nodding. "Anything."

"Grampa George and Gramma Anne look like Mommy, but you and Gramma Margie don' look like Daddy. How come?"

Shakur leaned forward and patted John's leg. "That's because Grandpa George and Grandma Anne are your mama's biological parents."

"What's biolego-col?"

"_Biological_. And that means your mommy came from Grandma Anne's tummy, just like you came from your mommy's. But your Daddy didn't come from Grandma Margie's tummy."

"Then how you get Daddy?"

Shakur patted the tip of John's sore, cherry red nose. "We were a foster mommy and daddy, which means we took in little boys and girls who needed homes and didn't have them and then when we found your daddy, we liked him so much that we wanted to adopt him."

"Why didn't daddy have a home?"

"Because…Grandma Nora wasn't ready to be a mommy at that time. She was very sad and sick back then."

"Sick like me?" John asked, wide eyed. "Did she gots itchy ears and a sore float too?"

Shakur laughed. "Not quite," he winked.

John picked up the bowl and tilted it to his lips, swallowing the last bit of soup, then proudly held it out to his grandfather. "Done!"

"You want me to get you a cough drop on the way downstairs too?"

John wrinkled his nose. "Nah, they make my tongue all funny feelin'."

"Numb?"

"Yeah, a huh." He laid back down as Shakur took away the bowl and tray, then buried the back of his head back into his pillow and stared up at the ceiling again to examine the troll until he heard his grandfather return. "Come look at my troll now?" John scooted aside to make room.

Shakur rounded the bed and laid down beside John and looked up to the ceiling again, then slowly shook his head. "I can't see it."

"Her!" John exclaimed, suddenly jumping up and padding wobbly along the bed, before jumping up and down and pointing as closely as he could. "Look real close, Grampa! See 'er now? How about now?"

Shakur twisted his head as far to the right as he could, then blinked in surprise. "So it seems you do have a little troll up there!"

"Imma name 'er Helga!" John pronounced, before flopping back down onto the mattress with a bouncy thump. "After that troll in the troll book you read me!" He suddenly gasped. "Grampa! Read me that troll book again!"

"It's nearly a half hour past your bedtime!"

"Please?" John begged, pressing his hands together in a pleading motion. He stuck out his bottom lip as fat as he could. "Pretty pleeeeeeease, Grampa Shakur? Please! Please! Please!" He began batting his eyelashes to imitate a tactic he had seen his mother use with his Grandpa George. Realizing he was wearing on Shakur's defenses, he decided to climb onto his grandfather's chest and put his face in Shakur. "Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"

Shakur began to chuckle, soft and gurgly at first, which gradually transformed into a jolly old Saint Nick-esq guttural laugh, before he grabbed John around the waist and pulled the boy up enough for him to sit up and situate himself against the headboard of the bed, before he pulled John onto his lap. "Alright," he sighed. "But only _one_ story! If your grandmother walks through that door and finds me keeping you up, she'll have my head!"

"How can she have your head?"

Shakur opened the drawer containing the book John had been asking for and flipped through to the back of the book to find a story about the story about a headless troll. "Well-"

"No! Not this one, read about Helga! Read about Helga!"

"You mean the Huldra?"

"That's what I said!"

Shakur smirked, "The Helga it is…"

As Shakur began to read, John tugged his pillow up under his head and curled up into the crook of his grandpa's arm, with the top of his head touching the bottom of Shakur's chin just barely enough that he could feel the vibration of the words as he read, so as to lull him off into a sweet slumber.


	3. I'm Willing To Bet Ya

**A/N:** I was really hoping I wouldn't have to write this chapter, but here it is.

_**Grandpa**_

**I'm Willing To Bet Ya**

When he took his hand away from the glass, the faint outlined remained, like a footprint on the beach or the outline of a body at a crime scene. For all intents and purposes, this _was_ a crime scene. The infants behind the glass, crying and sleeping and smiling, they made his heart cry out, because _she_, his granddaughter, was not among them.

It was true, he had never wanted his son to be a father at the tender age of sixteen. Even when Ben had wanted to marry Amy Juergens, it had been different: John wasn't Ben's. Yes, he had agreed to let Ben marry Amy then and he knew Ben would've been a wonderful father then, but somehow…somehow it was just different with Adrian. Maybe because he feared Ben didn't really love Adrian, maybe it was because he didn't really love Adrian, not like a father-in-law should that is. But whatever it had been, over the last nine months, he'd grown to love that little girl, long before he'd ever dreamt of her face.

"Mr. Boykewich?"

Leo stirred from his thoughts to find a nurse poking her head out of the nursery door. He smiled as best he could, although he didn't recognize her. That happened to him quite frequently, people knowing him from somewhere, even if he didn't know them. "That's me."

The nurse smiled sympathetically. "I recognized you from a billboard." She stepped out of the doorframe and cautiously approached him. "I saw that your son and his wife had been admitted today…"

"It's a tragedy what happened," Leo whispered, trying his best to keep the frailty from his words. "But things like this do happen."

The nurse nodded, seemingly gauging his eyes. "Would you like to see her?"

"See her?" Leo's lips trembled and his legs felt likewise. He started to shake his head. "Ben and Adrian said they already saw her-"

"In cases like these, we always give immediate family the option to see and hold the child."

"I'm only the grandpa-"

"I know."

Leo swallowed hard and looked back into the nursery. He felt a little nauseous. "Would Ben have to know?" 

She shook her head. "No."

He scratched the back of his neck cautiously. "Perhaps I…" Leo nodded. "Yes. Maybe just for a few minutes. Yes."

The nurse smiled, a bit glassy eyed. "Here," she said, motioning her arm to direct him down the hallway. "This room is empty…" She pushed the door open. "Why don't you just wait in here while I get her?"

Leo nodded. As the nurse left, he looked about the room. First he moved to the stool and sat down, then stood up and moved to the chair. That didn't feel right either, so he tried to sit on the bed, but couldn't stand the sound of the tissue paper crackling beneath his weight. Finally, he just chose to stand. Stand and wait, bouncing his weight between the falls and toes of his feet. His stomach felt tight as a noose and it may have been his imagination, but he could barely breath. In all the times he'd imagined her, she'd always been smiling and staring at him and grabbing his finger like Ben had done after he was born. But he knew when he saw Mercy, she wouldn't be anything like that. He wasn't sure if he wanted that, to see her like that. He hadn't even been able to see Sarah after she had died. "How can I do this?" he whispered to the thin air. He reached for the door handle, making his decision: he couldn't.

At that moment, it twisted and Leo stood frozen in place. The nurse edged her way inside, holding a pink and white bundle. He recognized it immediately, it was a blanket that he and Betty had bought for Mercy and Adrian had said she'd put it in their hospital bag. His heart sank as the nurse smiled up at him and held the bundle out. He hesitated for what seemed like a hundred years in only thirty seconds and then, with quivering arms, accepted his granddaughter.

"I'll leave you two alone."

Leo closed his eyes, unable to open them until the nurse had left. The bundle he held was lightweight, but it felt like thousand pounds. When he finally found the strength to open his eyes, he peeled back the edge of the blanket and found himself staring into a faintly olive face, with closed eyes and thick lashes. He'd expected her to be more pale, more blue, but she looked as alive as she had in his dreams, a color the perfect mix of Adrian and Ben. She had pudgy lips and a lustrous hair, clearly favoring Adrian and Cindy. But if he looked closely, he could see a dimple on her cheek and thick brown eyelashes.

"Sarah…" Leo cradled the little girl to his chest. When he closed his eyes, he could see his late wife, smiling with that same dimple and batting those gorgeous Italian lashes. He'd always expected to meet Mercy and whisper into her miniature ears, _If only you could see her now._ Paradoxically, he figured, "Somewhere she must be holding you too, with your eyes open…both of you smiling that single little dimple grin." When he closed his eyes, he could almost see it, both of them outlined in a whitish-gold light, and he could almost hear her words: _If only you could see her now._

He felt a tear trickle from the corner of his eye and down his cheek. It fell in slow motion onto Mercy's face, across from her nose. To the unsuspecting gazer, it might've looked like she had shed it herself, and then fallen asleep into her grandfather's loving arms. Gently, Leo moved his finger across her smooth skin, wiping away the offending drop. As if handling a priceless relic – and he was – Leo lifted Mercy to his lips and kissed her forehead. His head then fell back, his eyes sparkling, and stared at the ceiling. "Sarah," his begged, his voice breaking like a porcelain doll, "please take care of our Mercy!"


	4. It Will Be Me

**A/N:** It has been a_ long_ time since I updated this story, but today seems appropriate. (Apologies if some of the words or phrases are strange, I used an online translator since I'm not fluent.) And Grandpa, I miss you so much!

_**Grandpa**_

**It Will Be Me**

The sun caressed the herbs like a lover's hand and in turn the plants blushed their aromas into the heady summer air: basil dancing with fennel, laurel blowing kisses at oregano, and bay singing to thyme. The garden reminded Ashley more of a kitchen than the kitchen itself did and she relished the solitary time she had each day to dig her knees into the ebony soil and cajole her plants.

Her tomato plants were of particular interest and today they were looking a little peckish. She gently cupped each tomato in her bare palms, some just newly green heads while others sported vibrantly taut red skin, like edible bouncy balls. Ashley judged their growth by the way they filled her palm. She smiled, pleased with their weights, and carefully picked off any yellowing or crunchy leaves. They would be ready for picking within a week's time, possibly for a fresh pasta or a garnish or, her favorite, raw, sprinkled with just a kiss of salt. Her mouth watered at the edges, nearly tasting the sweet juices.

Over the sounds of twittering birds, there was a rapturous knock through her villa. A woman's deep and yet delightfully cheerful voice followed yelling "Ashley!" and yet sounded more like _Ah-sha-lay_.

Ashley angled her hands behind her back and pushed herself up from her spot in the dirt. Although she brushed herself off as best she could, she subconsciously felt that she was still layered in dirt but that didn't bother her as much as it might someone else. She carried herself through the one bedroom home and opened the front door to a mailwoman. "Esta," she greeted, faintly smiling.

Esta was older, late fifties perhaps, with a swathe of salt and pepper hair that made Ashley wonder if she actually had a Persian cat coiled around her head. Esta had been on the mail route the entire ten years that Ashley had been at the residence. What she lacked in height she more than made up for in charisma. "You have a package to-day m'dear!"

She'd been expecting something, though she didn't know quite what it would be. Several weeks earlier she'd gotten a letter from Amy, informing her that Mimsy had passed away and that they would be clearing out her house soon. Since the ashes were to be scattered instead of a funeral proper, Ashley had declined to fly back to the States and asked that if there was anything they wanted her to have, to please mail it.

The package Esta handed her was small, about the size of a shoebox, with her nephew's handwriting on it. _"Grazie."_

"_Sei il benvenuto mio caro. _I shall see you t'morrow!" Etsa kissed the air beside Ashley's cheeks before she left.

Ashley entered the kitchen with the package and tore it open with a pair of shears. Inside she found several letters, some old crayon drawings, and various pictures tied together with a single white ribbon. She set them aside in favor of something else though, a VHS tape. She didn't have a VHS player, blu-ray was king nowadays, but stuck to the VHS cover was a blu-ray transfer disc for home movies. She carried the disc into her living room and popped it into the mouth of her blu-ray player.

The image was grainy at first and the camera work was abysmal. The sounds of her parents' voices could be heard in the background, but the only thing on screen was the familiar blue and white tile floor of her grandparents' kitchen.

"And what is Anne craving this morning?" George's voice bellowed from the hi-def speakers.

Ashley grabbed the remote to turn down the volume.

"George!" Anne scolded. "Put that away!"

"I want to get my beautiful wife on camera."

"I look like a mess," Anne protested.

The camera finally moved up from the floor to shakily capture Anne. Her tomato colored hair was long but she had no bangs and her face was rounder than usual, matching the full moon of her belly that made it impossible for her to sit at the table.

"Pancakes?" George taunted. "Are you craving pancakes?"

"Go away, George!" Anne wadded up a napkin and threw it at the camera but it bounced harmlessly off the lens.

"I don't care what you say, love, you look beautiful," came a different voice. The voice's owner passed in front of the camera carrying a stack of buttermilk pancakes overflowing in a Niagara Falls of maple syrup and butter. Robert Scott set the plate on Anne's full belly. "Is this to your liking?"

Anne frowned. "Whip cream?"

Robert chortled and jetted off camera and back again, spraying a powerful mound of heavy whip cream atop the pancakes. "Anything for my girls." As his daughter took a sopping bite, he reached to her belly and gave it a loving rub. "Oh," he laughed. "I felt that. My little Ashley's got zest!"

"_Zest?" Amy asked. "What's zest, Grandpa?"_

"_Like circus," Ashley replied from across the table. She looked to their grandfather for confirmation. "Like circus?"_

"_Citrus," Robert corrected. He booped Ashley's nose. "And yes, my clever girl, zest is citrus. Citrus rind, specifically." He picked up Ashley's glass and showed it to Amy. "That's the rubbery stuff on the outside of oranges and lemons and grapefruit!"_

_Amy wrinkled her nose. "Ew!"_

"_It's an acquired taste," Robert agreed. "But it makes a mean marmalade, doesn't it, Ash?"_

_The small brunette nodded feverishly. "I like mommy-lade."_

"_Good girl," he said. "Not everyone can appreciate zest, but it enriches the lives of those who can. Brings everything together with a nice little kick, I always say."_

"_And here we are!" the waitress announced, balancing a massive round serving tray with three plates as she approached their table. "One key lime pie slice with extra zest, one gooey cinnamon bun with extra icing," she turned to Ashley and set down the final plate, "and one Mickey Mouse pancake with a whip cream smile!"_

"_Tank you, Gampa!" Ashley squealed while stabbing the right ear of her pancake with her fork._

**TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT**

_Ashley stood on a step ladder, her small frame bent over the gaping mouth of the sink to stare at the yellow, orange, and red tomatoes strewn across the kitchen windowsill. "Gampa?"_

"_Hmm?" Robert asked, sounding as though he were a meditating monk._

"_Why you not like dese ones?"_

_Robert turned away from his cutting board and wiped his brow. "Those ones aren't quite ripe yet." He picked up a pale orange tomato that was gradually turning red. "See how light it is? It needs to get darker before we can eat it, so I leave them in the sun to ripen."_

"_Why not ou'side?" she asked, the skin between her eyes forming a triangle in her confusion._

"_Sometimes Mother Nature blows them off, sometimes animals tamper with the bushes, and sometimes I have to pick them because of the weather. If they're premature, I put them here so they can grow big." He winked. "Like you!" Robert motioned his hand across the windowsill and picked up a small, oval shaped red tomato. "I think this one's ready. Wanna give it a try, Ash?"_

_Ashley nodded rapidly._

"_Here," he said, dropping it into Ashley's small hands. He turned on the sink. "Wash it off real good."_

"_Wif soap?"_

"_No, just warm water and your fingers, but be careful not to pop it."_

_Ashley cradled the tomato like an egg, careful to massage each bit of the surface with the pads of her fingers._

"_Perfect," Robert crooned. He took the tomato from Ashley, dried it off with a paper towel, and sprinkled some salt onto the flawless skin. "Would you like a bite?"_

A groan of satisfaction escaped her lips as a bit of tomato juice dribbled down the contour of her chin. There was nothing quite like biting into the salty sweetness of a homegrown food. Ashley nibbled on the remainder of the tomato as she stood in her kitchen, though not the one in her house.

With the ten thousand dollars Mimsy had left her when she was only a teenager, she'd traipsed off to Italy and spent years slaving over hot stoves and weathering the tongue lashings of seasoned chefs, but in the end, she'd managed to make a name for herself and when it was all said and done, Italy had become her home.

Twenty minutes from her villa lay a thriving hole in the wall bistro of Ashley's very own. There was a small staff of five, including herself, and the clientele consisted primarily of regulars that Ashley knew by name and order. There was something about spending her formative years in invisibility that made her keen to a first name basis.

"_Questa è la vita,"_ she whispered, a phrase that meant _that's life_. Ashley tossed the stem of the tomato into the trash bin as she left the bistro kitchen and made her way to the storefront, where several small tables were constructed with umbrellas for shade. She sat down at a table with a closed umbrella and splayed her hands across the sun warmed tabletop.

"Ashley!" Rosa, the head chef, greeted as she strolled towards the bistro entrance to begin her shift. "I didn't know you were here today, is something wrong?"

"No, I just…thought I'd come in for breakfast."

"Well since I'm already standing here, what's your flavor?"

Ashley licked her lips. "Buttermilk pancakes, extra whip cream."

Rosa tipped an imaginary chef's hat. _"Arriva subito!"_

Ashley watched Rosa disappear into the bistro, greeting guests in both fluent English and Italian all along the way. When she could no longer hear the cook, her eyes drifted to the sign atop the bistro, styled in cursive tomato vines: _Zest è la Vita_.


End file.
